


Avali

by sanchari (s_h_y)



Category: Ramayana - Valmiki
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26010043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_h_y/pseuds/sanchari
Summary: Lakshmaṇa is, technically, the older one.“Technically,” snapped Shatrughna sourly, whenever this came up in their childhood (a lot). “Three minutes is barely anything.” He won’t call Lakshmaṇa by anything other than his name. Which Lakshmaṇa is mostly fine with, except when he’s annoyed (a lot).They are hardly the Ashwini Kumaras, who barely have names of their own, but all the same, there is nothing that Lakshmaṇa doesn’t understand about his relationship to Shatrughna. It’s simple. Mapped out like the lines on his palm.
Relationships: Lakshmana & Shatrughna
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: Hindu Mythology Event





	Avali

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Hindu Mythology Event Day 6, which was in fact three days ago but I'm behind on absolutely every facet of my life now. I tried exploring the (in my opinion) underrated relationship between Lakshmana and Shatrughna, the two youngest brothers from the Ramayana.

The day Shatrughna and Bharat _a_ _ṇṇ_ _a_ leave, they all have to get up well before sunrise.

(“The earlier you reach the better,” their father had rumbled the day before. “No sense travelling in the heat.”)

So now, in the dark, they hoist bundles and boxes onto the horses, who stand snorting and stamping their feet.

“It _is_ pretty cold,” mumbles Shatrughna, pulling his shawl tighter around himself, and Lakshmaṇa wraps one arm around him, yawning. “At least you’ll miss the heat.”

“Nothing worse than the heat in the middle of winter.”

Lakshmaṇa snickers and bends to lift another bundle. “You’ll have bigger things to worry about soon. I heard the food in King Ashwapathi’s palace is terrible.”

He can practically hear Shatrughna roll his eyes. “I’m sure you did. And the beds are hard, too. Thin blankets.”

“I packed you a blanket for that exact reason.”

“Aha. Who else will treat me as well as you?”

“Not our grandfa - careful,” answers Lakshmaṇa, steadying himself as Shatrughna grasps his shoulder briefly to climb onto his horse. “The only good thing that came out of Kekeya were those clothes they sent us last Deepawali – “

Bharata snorts and mimes twisting Lakshmaṇa’s ear, and Rāma raises his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corner of his moth. “And our esteemed _mother,”_ he says, checking Bharata’s reigns. “Whom we _love_ and _respect.”_

“Exception to every rule.” Lakshmaṇa ducks around the horse and kneels quickly to touch Bharata’s feet before he mounts. “Bharat _a_ _ṇṇ_ _a_.”

“ _Thamma.”_

Lakshmaṇa smiles up at him and tugs lightly on his _angavastra_ , a habit left over from when they were children. “Don’t stay away too long.”

Bhharata laughs softly and thwacks his head. Lakshmaṇa allows it, this once. “Of course not. Apparently Kekeya has awful beds, haven’t you heard?”

“And food,” calls Shatrughna over Lakshmaṇa’s head. “Don’t forget the horrible food.”

Lakshmaṇa pats Shatrughna’s horse’s neck as he passes him to join Rāma by the gate. “You take your time coming back though, Shatrughna, yes? No rush.”

Shatrughna kicks out at him, laughing, but Lakshmaṇa steps in closer.

“Also,” he says, voice a little lower. “Keep an eye on that one.” He inclined his head in Bharata’s direction.

Shatrughna leans down towards him. “He _has_ been acting strange, right?”

“All quiet and moody – I thought maybe he told you something.”

Shatrughna shoots Bharat a concerned look and drops his voice even lower. “Nothing. I was hoping, maybe on the ride…”

“Exactly –“

“Alright,” says Bharata, slapping the reigns once. “Shall we?”

“Take care,” says Lakshmaṇa quietly, as Shatrughna straightens up, but he’s not sure if he hears. He doesn’t move out of the way fast enough and the horses kick dust into his eyes and so he doesn’t even watch the two of them leave, not really.

Which doesn’t matter, until two weeks later when Rāma opens his door and tells him that the coronation’s been cancelled and he’s leaving home.

***

Lakshmaṇa is, technically, the older one.

 _“Technically,”_ snapped Shatrughna sourly, whenever this came up in their childhood (a lot). “Three minutes is barely anything.” He won’t call Lakshmaṇa by anything other than his name. Which Lakshmaṇa is mostly fine with, except when he’s annoyed (a lot).

Lakshmaṇa is technically Shatrughna’s older brother, and he’s also Shatrughna’s twin, and so even as Lakshmaṇa and Rāma grow closer and closer, some part of him stays Shatrughna’s. Lakshmaṇa is technically Shatrughna’s older brother and most often this means exaggerated older-brotherliness when he’s in the mood to pull his leg: _make sure you’re eating well, Shatrughna. That’s not enough rice. Be nice to your brothers, Shatrughna. Finish your studies before you go play, Shatrughna._ Baby Brother hates it. Lakshmaṇa thinks it’s hilarious.

Lakshmaṇa loves Rāma more than even he really understands, and the whole world knows it. Lakshmaṇa’s love for Rāma borders on worship, indeed most people call him _devoted_ – it’s probably true. For Bharata too, he has love and respect, even if he doesn’t always understand him. But it’s different, with twins. They are hardly the Ashwini Kumaras, who barely have names of their own, but all the same, there is nothing that Lakshmaṇa doesn’t understand about his relationship to Shatrughna. It’s simple. Mapped out like the lines on his palm. Shatrughna is the only one of his brothers who is really his equal. Sometimes the only one who really understands his frustration with the _right thing to do._ Shatrughna cannot always calm him the way Rāma does, and Lakshmaṇa cannot always ease Shatrughna’s pain the way Bharata does, and sometimes they feel so alike that they only make each other worse. But still.

***

Lakshmaṇa can think only of Shatrughna and Bharata, the day they leave. Everything about the last couple of weeks has felt unthinkable. The announcement of this surprise, rushed crowning _,_ that was scheduled to take place while two of the princes were away – the prospect of them not being at the _coronation_ had itself been ridiculous to him, and abhorrent. How could anyone let them miss it? Something as big as this, something as rare as this, it was _wrong,_ and he had said so. Not that that made any difference. He wrote to Kekeya so they’d get the news, but at this rate the letter would probably reach them after everything was over already. It was disgusting.

And now –

The three of them climb aboard a chariot and the people’s voices climb to a fever pitch and Lakshmaṇa is just trying to remember what he and the others had said to each other right before they rode off from this spot. Rāma stands in the front, hands joined, and requests, again, that they be allowed to leave, that nobody worry too much, that Bharata be accepted as their rightful king. (Lakshmaṇa doesn’t even know what to think of Bharata. If he had known – if he had been involved – it’s unimaginable, but then being banished by their parents had been unimaginable – he doesn’t know what to think.)

It’s just that he got to _talk_ to Urmila. He had the opportunity to explain, to hear her out. _She_ got to speak her mind. To hear _him_ out. The decision had been his, but even so, they had confronted it, its repercussions, together. He never got to speak to Shatrughna, not since whatever stupid thing he had said when he left, and that seems like a lifetime ago now.

He has this strange fantasy – that Shatrughna and – and Bharata will come home, that they’ll be here any minute now, that they’ll sort all of this out and help him talk Rāma down and they can all have the coronation together and all of it will be fixed. He keeps catching himself watching the road expectantly, from the corner of his eye. Even as they leave. Even as they pass the gate. Even when they’ve long since diverged from the path to Kekeya.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. Nobody comes. By the time they get his letter, it’ll be well over too late.

***

Shatrughna stands well behind Bharata, and stays there. Bharata is still talking to Rāma, and Lakshmaṇa can’t think what to do. Their father is dead. Lakshmaṇa just threatened to _kill_ his _brother._ Their father is dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, the last time they had a real conversation was when they argued after the exile had been announced, and Lakshmaṇa cannot see around the fact that his father died thinking he hated him. Cannot see past the flash of real fear in Bharata’s eyes as he stood inches from the point of Lakshmaṇa’s arrow. God, he’s not a good person.

Bharata asks Rāma to come back. Again. Over and over and over. (Their father is dead). Bharata pledges to serve only as a representative. Their father is dead. Their father is dead.

Lakshmaṇa steps away, craning his neck. There he is. Behind everyone else. Turned away. Shaking.

Lakshmaṇa swallows. “Shatrughna.”

He doesn’t even look up. “Hello.”

Lakshmaṇa does not even know how to begin. He’s unused to this feeling around his own brothers, especially this one. “I – how have you – “

“How have I _been?”_

Lakshmaṇa stops and watches, reading him slowly. He’s angry. He’s angry, and he’s grief stricken, and he’s lost. Lakshmaṇa remembers suddenly, that Shatrughna heard that their father was dead and sped back to Ayodhya with Bharat only to find it even emptier than he could have expected. He cannot imagine –

“How are you, Shatrughna?” he says again, softly.

He watches Shatrughna clench and unclench his jaw. They are both prone to anger, but where Lakshmaṇa’s rage flares, Shatrughna’s burrows.

“I just wish,” he says finally, and then breaks off again. “I just – you didn’t even hesitate. Before leaving Ayodhya. Did you? Did you stop to think?”

“No,” answers Lakshmaṇa quietly. “I – it wasn’t like – that’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not fair. I don’t care about not fair. I just – fourteen _years._ Fourteen years. Tell me something, how come he’ll let _you_ stay with him but not us?”

Lakshmaṇa shakes his head. “The whole point is for Bharat _a_ _ṇṇ_ _a_ to be king. He has to now. It’s his duty. We can’t all four of us leave, this isn’t like - ”

It isn’t like _gurukula._ They’re not children any more.

He can’t bring himself to say it.

Silence. Lakshmaṇa steps forward again, suddenly aching. Fourteen _years._ “Shatrughna,” he says, trying to steady himself – this was his choice, his – “Shatrughna, we can’t leave him alone.”

Shatrughna shakes his head again, but Lakshmaṇa sees tears in his eyes, and finally closes the distance. He and Shatrughna are not quite identical, but they’re still the same height. Still the same build, the same skin, the same rough hair.

“You understand him,” says Lakshmaṇa quietly, squeezing Shatrughna’s shoulder. “You’ve always understood Bharat _a_ _ṇṇ_ _a_ better than I do. You’ve always been closer.” He tries not to let the shame seep into his voice.

“He loves you too,” says Shatrughna somewhat damply, and Lakshmaṇa actually laughs a little. “Even though you almost shot him.”

“Sorry about that.”

Shatrughna only shrugs. “Forget about it. I told him what it would look like if we brought the whole army. He wouldn’t listen.”

“Typical,” says Lakshmaṇa, almost forgetting for a second the situation they’re all in. Then he shakes his head. He’s not a good person. “Of course he loves me. He loves all of us. Rāma loves all of us. _I_ love – well, I mean, you’re alright most of the time.”

“Shut up. Stop it.”

“I love you. Eat three meals. Drink water. Be nice to Bhara – “

Shatrughna laughs bitterly, wiping his eyes roughly with his arm. “Watch out for Rām _a_ _ṇṇ_ _a_ _,”_ he says finally. “If he…if people keep taking advantage of how he is, we’ll never see any of you again.”

Lakshmaṇa grimaces. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Try not to let that one waste away too much.”

“It’ll be difficult.”

“Not beyond you.”

“That’s true. I kept him alive through Kekeya’s food and sleep issues – “

He breaks off again. _The only good thing that came out of Kekeya –_

“Take your time coming back,” says Shatrughna at last, cracking a small smile. “No rush.”

***

They come home in a _blind_ rush, Bharata’s promises echoing across years – if they don’t return after fourteen years to the day, he’ll take his own life. None of them doubt that he’ll do it. It’s Bharata. Lakshmaṇa drives like a madman, pitying Shatrughna right now and simultaneously praying he can stall their brother just a little bit, just a _little_ bit longer –

“I see it!” yells Sita from behind him. “The palace!”

Lakshmaṇa glances briefly ahead. It’s true, the tallest domes of the palace are coming into view now (still looks just the same), but the brief burst of joy he feels is quelled quickly, because Bharata isn’t at the palace, is he? He’s somewhere on the outskirts – God, now he has to _find_ them –

“He’ll be alright,” says Rāma again. Nobody is sure of this, not even Rāma himself, but somebody has to say it and it’s not going to be either of the other two. “He’ll be okay. He knows we’ll keep our word.”

“He doesn’t know we’re _alive,_ _a_ _ṇṇ_ _a,”_ groans Lakshmaṇa. “Look for a pyre.”

“Lakshmaṇa.”

“I’m serious! It’s him. He’ll have lit it by now, look how high the sun is. Oh my _god_ …”

“I see him,” says Sita suddenly. “Look, look – “

It takes him a minute, but he finally sees what she’s pointing at, the little glow of flames (he _knew_ it), the cluster of figures around. “Down, down,” says Rāma urgently, and then leans so far over the edge of the _vimana_ that Lakshmaṇa and Sita both shout. “Bharata, _stop!”_ Rāma bellows, as Lakshmaṇa tries desperately to steer this stupid thing downwards (“you have to push that way,” says Sita helpfully, “I remember from when he kidnapped me,”). _“WAIT! WE’RE BACK! WE’RE HERE!”_

Lakshmaṇa’s landing is shaky – some might call it a crash, were they not more occupied trying to wrestle a suicidal Bharata to the ground – but Rāma and Sita are jumping out almost before it actually touches the ground, sprinting for the flames, and Bharata looks up and stops moving, and Lakshmaṇa catches a split second sight of his face before Rāma has engulfed him. He climbs out unsteadily – air travel is not for him, he’s decided –

“Careful,” says a voice, as someone grabs his elbow. “Amazing. Have you been doing everything as brilliantly as that?”

“Shut up, Shatrughna.”

It’s him. It’s him. He looks the same, almost. Thinner and more…worn out – but more or less the same. He’s also still _mocking_ him.

“I’m just saying. It was like watching a dead bird fall out of the sky.”

Lakshmaṇa glares. “I’m going to go back for another fourteen years.”

Shatrughna laughs then, and it’s a real, happy laugh, and the sound is what finally drives it through, the realization that Lakshmaṇa is home. That they are all home, that they are all together, that finally, finally, after everything that has happened it is all _done._

Lakshmaṇa takes a breath. He has missed Shatrughna over and over and over again, while they were in exile. Over and over. During the days right after the abduction, when it was all Rāma could do to get up, to eat, to try, on the days when he seemed barely there at all and Lakshmaṇa worried he wouldn’t make it and cursed himself, again, for never learning _how_ Shatrughna used to help when people got like that. When the two of them were searching desperately for a path, a plan, _something_ – during the days before the war when he was slowly befriending Angad, Hanuman, when they were trying to draw up war strategies, budget their resources. None of them – barring maybe Rāma – had been as easy to work with as Shatrughna had been. Or rather, none of them had been as good as un-jamming Lakshmaṇa’s brain.  
When he’d been injured, in the brief moments when he surfaced, the conviction that he wouldn’t make it back to Bharata and Shatrughna and Urmila after all -

“Shatrughna,” he says, a little shakily, but then Shatrughna is hugging him, and he doesn’t have to finish the sentence any more.

“It’s been terrible,” Shatrughna mumbles, and Lakshmana tightens his hold at the exhaustion in his voice. “You have no idea. _I_ almost wanted to be dead at one point.”

“I almost _was_ dead at one point,” says Lakshmaṇa, in an attempt to cheer him up.

Shatrughna actually recoils a little. “Excuse me.”

“I got shot.”

“ _You_ got shot? That badly? By who?”

“Well, it was an _astra._ In my defense. So there was this prince on their side – Indrajit – “

“ _Indrajit._ Of course it was someone called with a name like that. Did he earn it?”

“He said he did. I think. Then he shot me, so I don’t really remember…anyway, they had to fly in a herb from the Himalayas to fix it.”

“That’s almost worse than mine. I was right here, and I had to help _administrate_. Lakshmaṇa, I swear, thank god we’re the youngest ones, kingship is _not_ for me – “

Lakshmaṇa raises his eyebrows. “ _You’re_ the youngest one.”

“No. Not this again.”

“You look a little thin, Shatrughna – “

“Don’t think that just because you’ve been away I won’t fight you.”

“Is that how you talk to your elders now? I’m disa – get back here. _Shatr –“_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not satisfied with this ending - it's abrupt, and I'm worried it feels too cheesy - and I also have no idea whether I've done justice to the character. Unfortunately I had no time to do any research, so there may very well be inaccuracies or things I overlooked - if so, please let me know! 
> 
> Also: aṇṇa (ಅಣ್ಣ/अण्ण), in Kannada and a number of other South Indian languages, means 'elder brother', used just like 'bhaiya' in Hindi. While I was writing this in English, something that still feels fairly new, I wanted to try using some of the language I've always heard and told these stories in. 'Thamma', similarly, means 'younger brother', and while I don't know of an equivalent Hindi word, where I'm from 'thamma' is used frequently to refer to pretty much any male younger than you, especially in informal settings. 
> 
> PS: the Ashwini Kumaras do in fact have names of their own, although they are used infrequently and not widely known. Sorry Nasatya and Dasra, I meant no offence.


End file.
